Petrichor, noun: The pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a dry spell.

It’s not long after the head, the bloody and disgusting thing bouncing around inside me the whole way home that they start talking again. Something about that trip made them re-connect. As far as I know it's not about me at all (hah! has it ever been?) but more about having to keep warm driving without a windshield or many windows. I've never felt so much broken glass fall on me before. The times we've been in big crashes I've been lucky enough to be in the trunk. I'm glad I fit in there, if this car was one of those little two-seaters I wouldn’t get to go many places with them. But then Dean wouldn’t ever be seen driving one of those and Sam wouldn't fit in the passenger seat anyway. I’m pretty sure Sam’s head would stick up over the top of the header of the car. Like I said, Dean wouldn’t ever drive a car that didn’t fit his brother.

I think that there's something else that happens while I've got the head inside me, between then and when Dean is washing me out with bleach water, but it’s hard to concentrate with it bumping around. Bleach water! Blech! I hate that stuff! I know why he has to use it though, I do. But it's gross and it stings. I’ll admit I’m glad he takes care of me though. But what comes after the whole bleach thing is what I think is the important part for them. It happens when he brings me out onto the back concrete patio of the bunker to dry in the sun. Dean’s standing right there next to me, just stretching his arms back, (I can hear his shoulder and back joints cracking) soaking the sun up like I am. Was he wet too? Then we both hear Sam come out, scuffing his boots on the step down from the kitchen. I hear a clink of glass and then Dean is holding a full bottle of beer. The condensation drops off the bottom and hits my lid. The coolness feels good in all this sun.

They have a conversation about how they should get some outdoor furniture out here for the good weather months, how Sam needs to be outside more than he has been lately. Dean teases him about needing to keep his tan going so Piper the waitress will still be impressed. Sam reminds him that he didn’t keep her number, remember? And she was a one-time thing anyway, Dean. You know all about those, right? Dean laughs, Yeah I used to, I’m out of practice now though. Why is that? Sam asks him, even though we both know he already has guessed the answer.

Dean laughs again, that one specific laugh that I haven’t heard in a long while now, it’s looser, with less guilt holding him back from bothering to be momentarily happy. It’s been a rough few years for both of my boys. Too many quiet, strained rides in the car, too many separations and way too many conversations started and never finished.

I hear Sam join Dean in laughing and then their laughter turns into a series of sounds I’ve missed hearing, no words exchanged between them, just languid breaths and quiet moans of pleasure. I’ve been a silent witness to their ups and downs over all the years I’ve ridden with them. By the sounds they’re making, this is one of the best upswings they’ve had in a very long time. Last time they sounded like this was right after they’d found the bunker and we’d moved in.

Now that I think about it, the boys sound a lot like John and Mary had when they’d moved into their first little starter home, before Dean had even been there to sit on my top lid. I couldn’t hear much since John and Mary usually kept me in the garage with the Impala, but sometimes I’d be in the kitchen after a camping trip and get an earful of all those domestic happy couple sounds. It’s nice hearing that, when your people are happy. It’s not like I can ever help much or anything beyond keeping drinks cold (or heads contained until they can be burned).

I feel the sun go behind the clouds and if I could, I’d shiver at the sudden drop in temperature, then the rain starts. That amazing petrichor ozone surrounds me, the new-rain-freshness wipes out any lingering traces of bleach. I can hear Dean fastening his jeans back up and Sam is scuffling around for their shirts. They each grab one of my handles and carry me back into the bunker’s kitchen, setting me into my spot near the refrigerator. There’s a conversation about someone having blue skin from the sudden chill (Sam), someone’s blue balls (Dean) and then they’re off down the hallway out of my hearing.

The rain dries slowly and the small puddle underneath me evaporates before they’re back in the kitchen, it must be morning because I hear coffee-making sounds. Instead of disappearing into separate rooms to eat, they hover around each other, orbiting closely and touching frequently. It’s been a good night for them, a reunion, and it makes me happy that my boys are happy. Sam is actually humming as he mixes up some frozen orange juice and Dean joins him with a whistled refrain that I’ve heard often. Metallica something if I’m not mistaken.

I hear them sit at the table nearby, drinking coffee and eating Dean’s new cooking obsession, breakfast burritos. They’re right across from each other as usual, but I can hear that their legs are tangled under the table and somehow I’ve forgotten about the indignity of having to hold something’s head. As long as they’re happy, I’m happy.

I love this, absolutely adorable! What an ingenious and captivating idea to write from the Cooler's POV. I'm a little in love with The Green Cooler of Conversation and think its role/significance should never be underestimated. :) I'm so happy to see that you share my opinion in this regard (and in many others, as we know). *grins* Thank you for this little gem! ♥